


Across Whatever Distance

by electricshoebox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex, good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4838306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[SPOILERS for Trespasser, mainly for Dorian/Bull but a few things for plot] </p><p>A series of scenes focusing around the sending crystals, and how Dorian and Bull keep their love strong over the miles between them. Lots of fluff, but I figure there's enough hardship between each of these moments that they deserve a little romance and happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across Whatever Distance

**Author's Note:**

> After Patrick Weekes confirmed that Bull and Dorian would have had sending crystals just like Dorian and the Inquisitor, this fic began to take shape. I apologize that it is very, very self-indulgent and fluffy, but as I said in the summary, there is more than enough difficulty in their lives between these moments, and I really just wanted to write some of the good things. I do have ideas for alternatives to some of these scenes, and might explore them later. In the mean time, have the longest one-shot I've ever written. My thanks as ever to [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com) for beta-reading and making sure I didn't go overboard. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Warning: There is some very, very vague description of blood and violence mid-way through.

Bull’s fingers trail down Dorian’s side, then up again, a long path across sweat-damp skin. Dorian sits on the edge of the bed with the cloth he retrieved from the basin while Bull still sprawls across the sheets. Dorian rubs the cloth along Bull’s belly, taking far longer than he needs to with every pass. They haven’t stopped touching since Dorian pushed his way through Halamshiral’s packed little tavern to the seat the Chargers left him at Bull’s side, an unspoken understanding.

Sera and Varric had insisted they spend their last night in the palace toasting Dorian’s departure, and Varric’s, and another victorious adventure done, and anything else that would get them “too piss drunk to wallow,” as Sera put it. The tavern was full and fuller of members of the Inquisition with much the same objective, enough to spill out the wide window and through the courtyard, their drunken singing echoing all the way through the palace halls, no doubt.

Dorian sank against Bull’s side as he sat--three or four years of rough-hewn confidence in such a simple gesture. Of all the wars and victories of his years in the South, Dorian thinks the hardest fought was his own, his victory in the absence of a flinch and a nervous glance around when Bull’s arm slid around his shoulders and the Chargers whooped at them. His hand settled on Bull’s knee, and Sera snorted, and the world kept blissfully turning.

Now he must unlearn it all again.

Bull’s fingers stray to Dorian’s hip, tracing the shape of a small scar, circling back, then tracing it again. Dorian sets the cloth aside and lets his hand rest on Bull’s stomach. There’s a comment chastising them both for being so absurdly morose on Dorian’s tongue when Bull speaks instead, rough and quiet.

“Let me come with you.”

Dorian closes his eyes and sighs. “Amatus…”

“Varric isn’t wrong,” Bull says, sounding as if it pains him. “The ‘Vints don’t deserve you. And they… they _will_ come after you.”

“I’d be ever so disappointed if they didn’t,” Dorian says, running his thumb along the curve of Bull’s belly. “It would mean I was hardly making an impression. I do so love to stand out.”

“I could protect you. Be your hired bodyguard,” Bull says. He hesitates, and Dorian sees the thought forming even before Bull can bring it to his lips. “Or I could--”

“ _Katoh_ ,” Dorian says sharply, and Bull looks startled as Dorian grits his teeth. “If you end that sentence with ‘slave,’ I will leave tonight.”

Bull falls silent, casting his eye away. Just the barest suggestion of it churns Dorian’s stomach, bitter and brutal. It will be hard enough to see the slaves on the streets now, in the mansions, their eyes and heads cast down. He will think of Sera’s fast smile, of Solas’s bitter frowns.

_How sorry are you?_

Dorian shakes his head--a battle for another day--and then shifts back onto the bed, climbing carefully to sit astride Bull’s hips. He eases his hands over Bull’s shoulders, willing the tension in them to settle, while Bull’s hands rest automatically on Dorian’s thighs. There’s a warm, lazy thrum of interest flaring between Dorian’s legs, but he lets it subside. They cannot distract themselves from these questions forever, as avidly and admirably as they’ve tried. Dawn comes. He has plans to ease the burden, but this comes first.

“Amatus,” Dorian says softly, leaning over Bull’s chest to meet his eye. “You must know they’ll accept no Qunari at my side, whatever story we conjure, and that alone will make you a far greater target than I ever could be. Especially if they suspect that hurting you will compromise me.”

He moves his hands lower over Bull’s chest and watches his fingers settle over the scars jutting across Bull’s skin. He adds in a whisper, “They would be right. And I will not let them hurt you. I will not let them take you from me.”

Bull sits up then, Dorian already reaching for him. Dorian cups his face, meeting Bull’s lips with all of the affection he can’t seem to stop from pouring out of him now that he _knows_ , now that… now that _Bull_ knows. Bull’s lips are soft but sure, and his arms wrap tightly around Dorian’s back. Was it fortune or misfortune to find so gentle, so wonderful a man here, only to have to leave him behind again? To discover love, and love returned, to build it so slowly and carefully, and then know now it can never be what they truly want? Would it have been better never to know what such a thing could feel like? Perhaps. But could he go back, take that wretched amulet of Alexius’s and live these years anew, he could no sooner give up the Bull than he could leave the world to Corypheus’s ruin. Dorian’s heart hammers in his chest, every beat sharpening the ache that settles between his ribs.

Bull keeps their foreheads pressed together when Dorian finally draws away. Dorian holds Bull’s face as gently as he can manage with his fingers tense.

“I love you,” Bull whispers into the space between them, making everything ever so much worse.

“I know, amatus,” Dorian says, “And that is why I cannot let you come with me.”

Bull breathes out heavily. “I know.”

Dorian bites his lip, hovering close until he can steel himself to lean back and look Bull in the eye. He swallows, his hands beginning to shake. He has wanted-- _needed_ \--to ask this question since the letter arrived, since his future first drew up stark and clear before him in clipped, elegant penmanship on parchment and he felt his stomach drop. But he hasn’t been ready. He never will be, in the end.

“Bull,” he says, his voice strained. He wills himself to hold Bull’s gaze. “If you… if it would be easier for you if… if we said goodbye, treasured what he had but… but walked away…”

As hard as it had been to frame the question in his head, it was infinitely harder to put it to his lips, to watch Bull’s face strain not to crumple with every syllable. Bull’s whole body stiffens, and that wretched ache stabbing through Dorian’s chest claws at his lungs and squeezes his throat shut. It takes every ounce of strength not to look away when the hurt reaches Bull’s eye. Dorian hates himself, hates every bitter word, but for Bull, for his happiness, even if that happiness only comes this way in the long run… _anything_.

Even this.

“Is that what you want?” Bull says, finally, rasping it out as his jaw tightens.

“Maker, no,” Dorian says immediately, and feels Bull sag against him in relief. It would have been kinder to them both, maybe, to lie--to let Bull turn away if it meant he was safe, and could find something easier, better, and well-deserved. Dorian has never been so selfless a man.

“Do you think I call you my amatus because I could drop you in a memory chest and leave you there?” he says, more fiercely than he means to. “But if it would be better for you to feel free, not to have to cling to what scraps we can find, I would have you at peace.”

Something gentle passes over Bull’s face then, something that smoothes his brow. And _oh_ , he is so very handsome.

“Look at you,” Bull says, the brittle hint of mischief in his voice now, “Caring about my happiness like that. Such a softie.”

“Not so loud, if you please. I’d dearly hate to disappoint all the people counting on me to become a hateful, evil magister,” Dorian says. Bull laughs, and Dorian revels in the sound, the ease of tension, before he sobers and meets Bull’s eye again.

“Are you certain?” he says quietly. His hands lift to Bull’s face again, cradling his jaw. “I’ve no idea when we’ll be able to see each other. I’ve no idea what may happen.”

Bull wraps his fingers around Dorian’s wrists and tugs him close enough for another chaste kiss. “Yeah. I’m sure. If it’s what you wanted, to stop, then we’d stop, but I… Shit, Dorian. I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t give a fuck that it’s not gonna be easy.” He gives Dorian a small smile. “Nothing with you ever is.”

Dorian’s lips twitch up. What terrible fools they are.

He drops his gaze then. “You will, of course, take what happiness you can find, what pleasure. I will not be the one to keep you from that, and I want to know you can still enjoy yourself even if I’m not there to be the one to share your bed.”

“Kadan--” Bull starts, brow furrowing, pulling back a little. Dorian’s hands tighten on his jaw.

“No, Bull, don’t argue,” he says. “Any time we have will be stolen, and fleeting, for now. I want you to be happy. Promise me.”

Bull’s lips quirk as he looks at Dorian for a moment. “You think I need that to be happy?”

“If it eases things, if it makes long nights bearable,” Dorian says. “It’s your choice, naturally, but I… suppose it’s important to me you feel free to make it.”

Dorian had never been a jealous man. There was hardly the luxury of it, in the fleeting dalliances Tevinter allowed him. Even the few that lasted longer than a passing night would end, eventually, and the end never came as a surprise, even if it was painful. He couldn’t deny that thinking of losing Bull in the same way was nearly unbearable, and he felt far more fear at that idea than he wanted Bull to know. But a passing, casual fuck to chase away the chill of an empty bed? Far be it from Dorian to begrudge the Bull that, if Bull was willing to keep this strange and wonderful thing they built between them, despite it all.

“If you’ll promise the same,” Bull says, shaking Dorian from his thoughts.

Dorian huffs a laugh. “That is a far greater risk for me than it has ever been before. But if you wish.”

“You can tell me about it, write to me,” Bull says, waggling his eyebrows, “Get some ideas.”

Dorian smirks, shaking his head. Even as he nods his promise, he knows he won’t follow through. If anything could be said of him, it was that he was a man that loved to play with fire, and he might have risked it, had he returned as he left. But now....what man could compare after the Iron Bull?

“That reminds me,” Dorian says. “I’ve a gift for you.”

Disentangling himself from Bull’s embrace, Dorian goes to a desk in the corner and pulls a small box from the top drawer. Then he returns, pushing it into Bull’s hands as he sits on the edge of the bed again. Bull opens the box carefully, then furrows his brow.

“This some kind of bizarre ‘Vint proposal?”

Dorian laughs a little too loudly and flushes. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. They’re sending crystals.”

“Sending crystals?” Bull pulls one of the box, holding it closer to study it.

“They send sound,” Dorian says. “Over any distance. They’re very difficult to get, but thankfully my connections in the Inquisition proved surprisingly useful. I found one pair to share with the Inquisitor, and one to share with you.”

Dorian reaches for the other crystal. “Hold a finger over the top, like this, and in moments the other will pulse.”

The crystal in Dorian’s hand lights up, the light pulsing over the surface as he presses the top. Bull’s crystal then begins to glow in the same way, letting out a low hum.

“Then, all you have to do is press yours, and we can speak.”

Bull mimics Dorian’s actions, pressing his thumb to the top of the crystal. The lights of both crystals solidify.

“See? Simple.”

The words echo from Bull’s crystal, and he looks down at it in surprise. Dorian watches Bull with trepidation, wondering if he might bristle at the magic involved. Then a smile spreads over Bull’s lips.

“So we can talk? Any time?” he says, looking back to Dorian as his words repeat through the crystal.

“Within reason, of course,” Dorian says. “When you’re finished, press into it again.”

Bull obeys and laughs, looking delighted, and Dorian relaxes.

“You might’ve mentioned this before offering to break us up, you know,” Bull says, setting the crystal down.

Dorian looks away. “I thought… I didn’t want you to feel obligated if it truly would’ve been easier for you to walk away.”

“Kadan,” Bull says, sliding a finger beneath Dorian’s chin and turning his face back. Dorian shrugs and smiles weakly. Bull shakes his head, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

“You’re always full of surprises,” Bull says.

“Have to keep you on your toes,” says Dorian. “I’ve one more, in fact.”

“That so?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dorian says. “In that desk is a key to what is apparently the Divine’s private villa outside Val Royeaux. _Well_ outside. It is ours for a couple weeks, if we’ve a mind, and if the Chargers can spare you.”

“Private villa? For a couple _weeks_? We’ll still have time?” Bull says. “I’m starting to feel very spoiled. How the fuck did you manage _that_?”

“It will be difficult to find a caravan north at this time of year, I’m sure it’ll take quite a bit of time,” Dorian says with a hint of a smile. “I admit to being presumptuous, but I asked our dear Victoria if she knew of somewhere we might stay for awhile, and she handed me that key and told me to consider it a going away present, so long as we leave the furniture in tact and do not ruin the linens beyond repair, and return it promptly.”

Bull laughs, full and rich and happier than he’s sounded all night. Perhaps since the messenger passed the letter into Dorian’s hands. Dorian’s heart leaps.

“So you’re telling me you actually went to the Divine herself and got permission to use her villa for a private vacation with me. And you got us magic crystals to talk to each other whenever we want,” Bull says.

Dorian’s cheeks heat. “That’s about the sum of it, yes.”

“This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, kadan.”

“Yes, well, I aim to please,” Dorian says, fighting down an utterly besotted grin when Bull drags him back into his lap. “I’ll take it that’s a yes?”

Bull draws him into a kiss, then another, and another. “Yes,” he breathes between them. “Yes, yes, fuck yes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“The South has done wonders for you, Dorian.”

Maevaris drapes herself across a plush divan in what used to be his father’s study. Dorian struggles to imagine calling it _his_ , now. He still expects to see his father hunched over the massive wooden desk every time he walks into the room, with books and scrolls spread over the polished surface and wisps hovering over his shoulder for better light. But the chair is empty, the desk clean, the books stacked neatly in the shelf behind it. Dorian looks away from it, forcing himself to meet Mae’s smile as he fights down the hollow feeling in his stomach and goes directly for the bottle of wine in the corner.

Mae has changed little in the intervening years. Her sharply Fereldan looks--light waves of hair and eyes startlingly blue--show not even the slightest crease of age, though she is more than a few years his senior. She still favors the blue robes that bring out her eyes, this set with jeweled feathers floating around her bare shoulders. The familiarity is a comfort, as is her easy smile, and the fact that her poise and posture remind him strikingly of Vivienne--though that one he will never willingly admit to finding comforting. At least he is not completely alone here.

“It is amazing what Fereldan mud and a few harsh mountain winters will do for the skin,” Dorian says as he fills their glasses. “Surely everyone ought to try it. It’ll become all the rage in Minrathous.”

“Oh, I’m sure Fereldans would adore that,” Mae says with a laugh. “A parade of magisters tromping through their swamps.”

“Might solve more than a few of our problems,” Dorian says. He sweeps around the side of the divan and hands her a glass. She raises it in thanks.

“But truly, Dorian, you look…” she waves the glass at him vaguely, narrowing her eyes as she considers him. “...lighter. Vibrant, even.”

“I’ve always been vibrant,” Dorian says, settling into an armchair across from her. “One might even say radiant. Or stunning.”

Mae rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you handsome demon. You cannot fool me, you know.”

Dorian takes a deep drink to avoid both her gaze and that of the massive portrait of his grandfather glaring at him from behind her. He wonders exactly how angry his mother would be if he exiled it to one of the guest chambers.

Mae leans forward, feathers swaying around her. “All right, out with it. Who is he?”

Dorian chokes on the wine, narrowly avoiding spitting it on the rather expensive rug at his feet. His throat burns as he struggles to slide his wine glass onto the side table next to him. He splutters, eyes watering, and Maevaris looks utterly, unfairly delighted.

“Mae, that is hardly--”

“Don’t play coy, Dorian,” she says, waving away his protest. “I may be among the few you can speak freely with.”

Dorian frowns as he catches his breath, staring down at his feet. “Sadly true. Though…”

He hesitates, and that only makes Mae swing her feet back down to the floor and lean closer. “Oh, don’t keep me in suspense!”

Dorian swallows against the lingering burn in his throat. “He’s… a Qunari. Well, Tal-Vashoth, technically, but all the same--”

Maevaris laughs. Dorian looks up sharply, but her smile is warm.

“You always did like the big ones,” she says, and Dorian’s cheeks burn harder than his throat. He fumbles for his wine.

“Oh look at you! Blushing and everything,” she says. The feathers shake and glint as she leans back, studying him again as she takes a sip. She chuckles. “It’s quite serious, then?”

Dorian takes another long drink, looking pointedly away toward the door. Mae’s smile straightens just a little. Dorian swears he can _feel_ the eyes of the portrait behind her.

“Oh,” she says, and Dorian almost winces at her tone. “Oh, it _is_ serious, isn’t it?”

It would be impolite to swallow the entire glass in one go, but Dorian feels sorely tempted. Mae looks at him kindly then, amusement gentling but stopping short of pity, and he’s grateful enough for that, at least. Pity would be far worse than mockery, if only because it reminds him exactly how many miles stretch between Qarinus and Val Royeaux, or Verchiel, or Redcliffe, or wherever the next job takes the Chargers. How strange it is to sit in the luxury of the home he always hoped to return to and long instead for a drafty room with holes in the roof and horn scuffs on the headboard.

“You love him.”

Dorian startles from his thoughts. He manages not to choke on the wine again, but it’s a near thing. He grasps for a reply, something dismissive and easy, but the moment stretches too long for him to school his face. He’ll need to work on that. Soon.

There’s no point in avoiding the truth, after that. “Maker help me, but I do.”

Mae sets her glass down. “Tell me about him.”

A smile finds its way back to Dorian’s lips. “Well, he leads a mercenary company, and--”

“A mercenary company?” Mae says, eyes lighting up. “Of course, the roguish and dashing type.”

Dorian’s lips quirk. “Well, you know how it is.” And he can’t help himself, then, leaning forward a little. She’s right, after all. She may be the only person in the Imperium he could tell, and at least she appreciates his taste. “Especially when he’s seven feet of roguish and dashing, with all the muscles to boot.”

Mae laughs, clapping her hands once as she shakes her head.

Before Dorian can continue, there’s a sudden, pulsing warmth at his chest where the sending crystal sits. The glow shows from beneath his robe, and he sits up quickly, setting his glass back down. Maevaris raises her eyebrows.

“Dorian,” she says, tone very carefully even, but the corners of her mouth are twitching, “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a sending crystal?”

Dorian stands. “Forgive me, I’ll only be a moment.”

“Oh, you _have_ got it bad,” she calls after him, her laughter following him to the door. “How in the world did you even find one of those?”

“Hush!” he hisses. “Mother will overhear you!”

“Go on,” she says, shooing him out. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

Dorian blushes furiously again, feeling every inch the sneaky schoolboy of his youth as he ducks into an alcove and glances around for servants. Then he pulls the chain from beneath his robes, pressing a finger to the crystal.

“Amatus,” he says, softly. “I’ve only a moment, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, sorry, kadan. We finished up early. I can wait till later, if you want.”

Dorian closes his eyes, letting Bull’s voice wash over him. He couldn’t help the smile if he tried. “Just give me a couple of hours. Then I’m all yours.”

“Mmm, like the sound of that.”

“Until later, then, amatus,” he says.

“I’ll be waiting.”

When Dorian re-enters the room, Maevaris takes one look at him and bursts into laughter, which only makes the heat on Dorian’s cheeks infinitely worse.

“That’s it, I must know absolutely everything right this instant,” she says, gesturing to his abandoned chair. Dorian sighs and heads straight for the wine bottle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian slumps against the door to his room once he shuts it, pressing his hands to his forehead. Hours upon hours of meetings, arguments, more meetings, arguments _in_ meetings, sweet-talking, debating, chit-chatting, and always, always arguing. Months of this now, just this side of the half-year, and yet it feels as if every day has been fraught with enough arguing and word-fencing to fill a decade.

He turns the lock, and locks the day behind him with it, shedding every tense second of it inch by inch as he slips his boots off, then robes, and everything underneath, a trail of silk and leather and frustration he leaves on the floor. He keeps the room dark, and lets the dim light of the moon guide him to his bed. His hand strays up to the chain around his neck, his fingers pressing into the crystal at his chest. It hums to life, quiet but warm, pulsing until it stills.

“Kadan.”

Bull’s voice is soft, and so palpably fond that Dorian has to sit on the edge of the bed to keep his knees from buckling. Bull chuckles quietly and says, “I was just thinking about you.”

“Were you?” Dorian says. “Missing my radiant company?”

“You have no idea,” Bull says, low and rough. He sighs, and Dorian hears a rustle of cloth, perhaps the shifting of sheets. Dorian lays back on his own bed, letting his eyes slip closed, and trying to imagine Bull pressing close next to him as he slides beneath the blankets.

“I believe I have a fairly good idea, amatus,” Dorian says.

Some of his exhaustion must have bled into his voice, because Bull says, “Long day?”

“Eternal,” Dorian sighs. “If I never hear the word ‘politics’ again, I shall die a very happy man indeed.”

Bull chuckles, the sound humming through Dorian’s chest. Dorian shivers.

“Give ‘em hell, big guy,” says the Bull.

“I’m certainly trying,” Dorian says. “Let’s go back to your thoughts about me, that sounded far more interesting.”

“Sure you wanna know? They’re not thoughts fit for a respectable magister,” Bull says. There another rustling sound that follows, quieter this time.

“I have never in my life been accused of being respectable,” Dorian says. “I have no plans to start now.”

“That’s what I love about you, kadan. Among other things,” Bull says. Dorian feels a deep ache spread through his chest, an unsettling, ever-present longing that re-awakens at Bull’s words. In Skyhold, before Dorian’s first visit to Tevinter, when anxiety ate his thoughts or frustration burned through his concentration, the Bull wrapped him in ropes and pinned him to the bed. He drove Dorian to the edge of delirium with pleasure, until Dorian’s mind frayed and emptied. Until all that remained was the Bull, his mouth and his hands and his heart. Now more than ever he longs for that touch, and lies in an empty bed with only the small comfort of Bull’s voice. Dorian bites his lip. It must be enough.

“Talk to me, amatus,” he whispers. “Tell me these scandalous thoughts. I need…”

He trails off, but he hears Bull inhale sharply. Then Bull says, “You in bed, kadan?”

“Mmm,” Dorian says. “And gloriously naked.”

“Ahh, shit,” Bull says, and Dorian hears the hitch in his breath, and another shift of cloth. “If I was there…”

“Yes,” Dorian hisses, closing his eyes.

“Think about the inn, the last time we met,” Bull husks. “The second round, when we finally managed to get the rest of our clothes off.”

Dorian gives a breathless chuckle and thinks of the dim room, the candlelight flickering on the wall. They were on each other almost before the door closed, yanking carelessly at strings and buckles until patience wore too thin, trousers were shoved down, and finally, finally, _finally_ , there was the Bull’s hand on him, his hand on the Bull. They kissed like the starving men they were, until it was more the ragged, wet slide of lips and tongues than anything amounting to a kiss, swallowing moans and breathless whispers in the wake.

But then the world seemed to slow around them. Bull peeled layer by layer of cloth from Dorian’s trembling body. Everything that separated them fell to their feet, and Bull laid him down on the bed.

“Think of my hands,” Bull says. “Running over every inch of you. Down your arms, your chest, your hips… couldn’t get enough, kadan.”

Dorian sighs, and his hands rise of their own will to his arms. They follow the path Bull whispered, trailing lightly over his biceps, then tracing down the line of his collar bone and the shape of his ribs, just as Dorian remembered. He drags his fingertips along his thighs, breath hitching a little as he slides past his rapidly growing arousal.

Bull hums. “You remember, kadan?”

“Yes,” Dorian whispers, and he hears Bull groan in approval.

Dorian raises his fingers back up along his sides. “It’s not nearly the same, amatus.”

“Just think of how I touched you,” Bull says. “Think of my mouth on your thighs, mmm, how I bit into you there…”

Dorian feels for the phantom bruise. He can picture it clearly: a circle in the shape of Bull’s teeth. He presses his fingers there, but the pain has long since faded; he pinches the skin instead, sighing at the sting. Nothing quite so sweet as the Bull’s mouth, licking over the bite to soothe it after, but enough to feel it, to touch the memory.

“I remember how beautiful you looked,” Bull says, a little strain to his voice. “Sprawled there beneath me, open for me.”

“Amatus,” Dorian rasps. His cock curves hard and heavy against his stomach. “Bull, I--”

“Yeah,” Bull says. “Yeah. Touch yourself, big guy.”

Dorian lets his hand wrap around his length, giving himself a slow, teasing stroke. He moans, low but enough for Bull to hear.

“Yeah,” Bull says again. “Did you think of me? When you sat around all those magisters later with my bruises on your thighs, my love bites under that high collar?”

Dorian groans a little louder than he means to and tightens his grip on his cock. Oh, the thrill it had given him to sit in the hall of the magisterium and let his hand slip casually to his thigh. The bruises were a couple weeks old by then, the purple fading to a yellow barely visible in the bronze of his skin. Still, the faintest ache lingered. Dorian throws his head back now as he thinks of it, spreading his thighs and beginning to stroke himself with more of a rhythm.

“Did you think of me, kadan?”

“Yes,” Dorian says. “Mmm, Maker, yes.” _Is there ever a moment when I’m not thinking of you?_

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Bull groans. “Touching my love bites where anyone could see. The things you do to me, kadan.”

“The things I _will_ do to you, when I see you again,” Dorian says. Bull moans, and the sound of it jolts straight to Dorian’s cock. Dorian’s other hand strays to his hair, fisting into it partly for the sting and partly to press his mouth into his arm and muffle his cries. Dorian had no desire to give the servants a show.

“Ahh, Dorian, I’m so close,” Bull says.

“Come for me, amatus,” Dorian pants, abandoning the slow build of his arousal to pump his fist in earnest. “Oh, I want to hear you.”

“Dorian,” Bull says with a broken groan that makes Dorian tremble. “Oh fuck… love you…”

Dorian moans, smothering the sound as best he can against his skin, and spills over his hand. He strokes himself through it, the way Bull always does for him, until even the lightest touch is too much. His hands drop bonelessly to the bed, and he pants into the darkness, closing his eyes again.

For a moment, pleasure soothes the tension from his body, leaving him sweaty but sated. Then he listens to Bull’s breathing, as heavy and hard as his, and finds his hand drifting to the other side of the bed, empty and cool. Dorian bites his lip.

“Dorian, you’re so good,” Bull finally says. Dorian’s teeth sink harder into his lip. “So hot.”

“Amatus,” is all Dorian can manage, nothing left of his wits to give him a better reply. _I miss you._ Useless to say it aloud, to remind them of the distance they both feel.

“Sleep, kadan,” Bull says, after a moment. “I’m here if you need me. Always.”

Something tender sits heavily on Dorian’s tongue, the ache in his chest sharp. He wonders, idly, and not remotely for the first time, if anyone has come to warm the Bull’s bed since the nights they spent at the inn. There’s something unfairly bitter in the thought. It’s not jealousy, not exactly; the Bull’s attention is not a fickle thing, even over such a distance, and if his interest in Dorian waned, Dorian has little doubt the Bull would simply tell him. He trusts Bull, and what a thing that is. So it’s more envy, then, that someone else might share the Bull’s room, hear his voice in their ear, feel his scars beneath their hands, when Dorian couldn’t. He hasn’t asked. It feels foolish, to feel like this now. He made the Bull promise.

The moment passes, and at last Dorian says only, “Goodnight, Bull. Be safe.”

“You too, kadan.”

It’s a long time before Dorian falls asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m telling you, Dorian, I’m pretty sure this is Cassandra’s third read-through. She’ll never be able to look either of you in the eye again.”

Dorian laughs, leaning back in his chair as he sits on the balcony just outside his bedroom and listens to Adaar. The sun hangs low in the sky, bathing the streets of Minrathous in red and gold. Autumn in Tevinter is like summer in Ferelden. The thick heat of Matrinalis subsides into the warm, breezy days of Solis, and the nights fall earlier and cool. He pictures the golden leaves likely carpeting the ground in the Hinterlands--where Adaar is staying on his way back west--and the crisp air carrying the smell of apple pastries from the farms. And the smell of druffalo dung, which is enough to keep him from truly missing it.

“At least tell me that terrible dwarf had the decency to change our names,” Dorian says. “As if I needed more rumors to fend off.”

“Ah, don’t let that worry you. Varric didn’t even publish under his own name. He says it’s something about the viscountship, but…” Dorian hears the smile in Adaar’s voice. “I think he just doesn’t want another romance to his name.”

“He ought to be sending us royalties,” Dorian says. “After all, we did all of the...dirty work.”

The moment he says it, Dorian groans and presses his face into his hands. Adaar’s laughter is long and loud.

“If you tell the Bull I said that, I will lead an army of undead to your doorstep,” Dorian says, which only sets Adaar off again.

When his laughter finally subsides, Adaar says, “Hey, if that’s what it takes to get you to visit.”

Dorian sobers a little and sighs. His gaze drifts back out over the city, to the faint sparkle of the sea in the distance. Dorian will never miss the heavy cold of Ferelden. He can’t say he longs for the dangerous journeys or the tasteless camp stews eaten in threadbare tents. He certainly doesn’t miss the ale. Still, he might just give up the warm breeze blowing in from the sea and tugging at his growing hair to stand in that wretched cold if it meant seeing Adaar, or any of the others, again.

“If only I could, my friend,” he says at last.

“Ah, listen to me, that’s hardly fair,” Adaar says. “Let’s talk about something else. You mentioned Bull. How are things?”

“You see him more than I do,” Dorian says.

“Dorian,” Adaar says. “Don’t even pretend as if I don’t know he has a crystal. If it were me and Cassandra, I’d be talking to her every night.”

Dorian chuckles. “Ah, very well, so he does, and so we do. Things are… the best they can be, I suppose. We managed to meet twice now at an inn on the border. The time is… always too short.”

“Of course,” Adaar says. “I know he misses you.”

Dorian leans back in his chair. “Yes, well, I… may be able to make it a little easier, the next time, at least.”

“Oh?”

Dorian worries his lip. “This is going to sound terribly foolish. Perhaps it is. But I’ve...bought a villa. In Trevis.”

“A villa?” Adaar says. Dorian can _hear_ Adaar’s eyes lightly up. He doubts Talan would really admit it, but he is every drop the hopeless romantic his beloved Cassandra is. Dorian might bet a fair few silvers that Adaar’s read Varric’s cursed book as many times as she has.

“Terribly clandestine, of course,” he says. “We put it in Mae’s name, let it stand as some ridiculous show of wealth, or something like that, easily dismissed. Happens all the time. But it will give us somewhere to meet that isn’t a filthy inn likely crawling with spies.”

“You bought a house together.”

Dorian nearly drops the crystal.

“Fasta vass! Nothing of the kind, it’s simply a place to stay,” Dorian splutters over Adaar’s laughter. “And I… haven’t told Bull, yet. I wanted to surprise him.”

It wasn’t the sprawling and lavish rooms the Divine had lent them nearly a year ago, no gold accents and disgustingly luxurious furniture. Still, it was a rather nice country estate well outside of the city but still easy to travel to, clean and well cared for. Dorian took the time after his last visit with Bull to survey the town, the idea sprouting in his head as they huddled together in the “biggest” bed the inn had to offer.

“And you keep calling Cassandra doe-eyed.”

Dorian scoffs. “Please. You can’t possibly compare us. She’d expect rose petals leading to the bed and a quilt made of sewn-together pages of poetry. You ought to be taking notes, by the way.”

“All right, all right,” Adaar says. “I’m happy for you, Dorian. For what it’s worth, I’m sure Bull will be more than pleased.”

Dorian smiles. “He had better. It was no small expense.”

Distantly, a bell chimes the hour. Dorian sighs.

“Forgive me, my friend, but I’m afraid I must dash if I’m going to be fashionably late for this ridiculous dinner party,” he says.

“As if you don’t enjoy every minute,” Adaar says.

“Of these drab affairs? They ought to be thanking me for livening things up with my scandalous presence,” Dorian says. “Give my regards to Cassandra, won’t you?”

“I’m sure she sends hers too,” Adaar says. “Take care, Dorian.”

“And you, dear friend.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Pawn to D3."

Dorian leans across the marble chess board in front of him, sliding a white pawn forward. Then he sits back, twisting the edge of his mustache between his fingers as he studies the board. Beside his other hand, the sending crystal glows. It’s the coolest part of the year for the Imperium, and rain has been steadily falling for several days. Bull and his boys, meanwhile, are snowed into an inn on the edge of the Frostbacks.

"Mage to G4," Dorian says after a moment, pushing the piece across the board.

The Bull's chuckle is warm. "Pawn to H3. Careful."

Dorian considers. "Mage to H5."

The Bull goes quiet. Dorian wishes idly that he could see that eye roaming over the board, and Bull's hand come up to rub at his jaw the way it always did when he was deep in thought. He can hear Bull scratching lightly at the stubble on his chin.

"You're getting better, you know," Bull's voice comes to him, after a moment. Dorian smirks.

"Says the man who is playing chess with me in his head from across the continent. And you're stalling."

"See? Stroking your ego usually gets you, you're getting better," Bull says, and Dorian can hear the smile in it.

"Please. And anyway, my entire political career is starting to feel like a chess match. I might as well win on this board if I can't on that one," Dorian says.

"Aw, don't talk like that," Bull says. "If you're ruffling feathers, that means you're worth being ruffled over."

"It's something, I suppose," Dorian says, steepling his fingers. "So, shall I expect your next move before the end of the Dragon Age, or--"

"Ben-Hassrath to E5."

Dorian reaches for the piece, then frowns. "Amatus, are you certain you've got the board right?"

"Yep."

"But that leaves your Queen completely open," Dorian says.

"Trying to help me win, kadan?" Bull says, amused.

"Hardly. Simply wondering if you've finally taken one too many blows to that head of yours," Dorian says.

"Aww, look at you worrying about me," Bull says with a soft chuckle.

Dorian swallows. _I do. All the time. Every moment._ But the Bull knows that, surely, and it wouldn't do to turn maudlin half way through a pleasant evening. So instead he says, "Someone has to. And I'm starting to think it's me I ought to be worrying about. What in the world are you planning?"

When his only answer is another laugh from Bull, this time far more mischievous, Dorian sighs, "Well, if that's how you want it, then Mage takes Queen."

Bull hums a moment, then says, "Tamassran to F7. Check."

Dorian rises to push the piece into place. "I should've known." He sighs, taking another moment to study the board.

"While we're on the subject, though," he says as he twirls a black pawn between his fingers, "How is your head? After that fight you mentioned with the giant--"

"Now who's trying to stall?" Bull says with a laugh. "Trying to make me lose the board?"

"Oh, you'll lose," Dorian says. "One way or another. But I was asking seriously."

"Ah, it's fine," Bull says. Dorian can picture the dismissive wave of his hand. "Stitches kept a good eye on it."

"I hope you've kept to less... adventurous activities for the time being," Dorian says. "King to E7."

"Tamassran to G5. Check," Bull says. "Pay was good enough that we took the week, but we're heading on another job once the snow melts."

"I meant in bed, you lummox," Dorian says. "King to D6. At least tell me your bedmates are being careful with you."

The Bull falls quiet for a moment, and Dorian's brow furrows. When the silence stretches for a minute, Dorian rolls his eyes. "Oh come, come. I know you enjoy your acrobatics but if you're going to go and get yourself knocked on the head by a giant, you're going to have to--"

"I haven't."

"Oh don't try to pretend it didn't happen when you already told me--"

"I mean," Bull says, a little louder, "I haven't...been. With anyone else."

Dorian feels the annoyance building with his rant flood out of him, and his eyes jump to the crystal, as if he might see Bull's face in the glow. He inhales sharply, feeling suddenly as if the air has gone from the room.

"Not...at all? It's been four months since the villa."

"It's been a year and five months since you left Orlais," Bull says, softly enough that Dorian leans his ear closer to the crystal.

"Bull," Dorian says, grabbing blindly at the arm of his chair. "You haven't been with anyone at all since I left?"

"It's all right if you have. You know I don't mind--"

"But you promised," Dorian says, fingers curling around the ornately carved wood.

"You asked me to promise I'd find happiness where I could. And I have. Been hunting wyverns, giants... things to fight. Been with the boys, been to see friends, now and then. Talked to you. Talked to you every night, thought about you every day. I'm good, Dorian."

He pauses, and Dorian tries to remember how to breathe.

"I promised because it seemed important to you, but I still don’t know why you think I need that to be happy,” Bull adds.

“It’s not… that I thought you _needed_ someone to fuck, I just... I’ve already asked you to sacrifice so much for my sake, I won’t be the one to ask--”

“You didn’t ask me to sacrifice anything,” Bull says. “I made the choice.”

“I simply--” Dorian starts again, hand flailing uselessly in front of him, “I would not be the man that makes demands on your happiness when I can’t even promise you when I’ll see you again. I wanted you to be able to enjoy yourself.”

“And like I said, _I_ made the choice. There've been people I could have had, if I wanted, but... it wouldn't... it wouldn't have been the same," Bull says after a moment, "It wouldn't have been you. I don't need anything else. I'm good."

 _You are,_ Dorian thinks, and absurdly, he feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Of Bull's enduring love Dorian never had a doubt, whether he took hundreds to his bed or none at all. Bull had always seen sex as something separate, categorized outside of love and friendship, the fulfilling of a need. Dorian understood that, even if those terrible pangs of envy filled him at the thought.. But to know he didn't _want_ to any more than Dorian did was... something else entirely.

"I haven't either," Dorian finally says, when he trusts his voice. He hears Bull shift, and exhale a little sharply. Dorian smiles, tears clouding his vision. "You've rather ruined me for other men, amatus."

Bull laughs, but it's a gentle sound. "Yeah, they don't exactly make a lot of 'em my size in Tevinter."

Dorian manages a watery chuckle. "Well, there is, of course, _that_ , but..." He huffs a breath, shaking his head, trying to put all that swims in his head every moment he spends with Bull into words that might not sit so sharp in his chest as he spoke them, or feel so heavy and wide with meaning, even if they were undeniably true. It isn't that he doesn't want to share his feelings with Bull. Quite the opposite. But such a thing, such a grand and vulnerable thing, still wakes an old snarling fear in his gut. And the Bull is across the world, with only his voice to soothe it.

Dorian swallows. "What man here would touch me the way you do? What man would say my name like you, look at me the way you do? Perhaps it would be a nice diversion, but I'd... just find myself missing you, wishing he was you, and... I'd... rather hear your voice in my ear, even if I can't have your body to go with it, than any other."

" _Dorian_ ," Bull says, sounding very much as if he is helpless to say anything else. Dorian knows the feeling.

"Ah, what great fools we are, amatus," Dorian says with something like a laugh.

"I hear love does that to people," Bull says. It sounds fond, and Dorian feels it to his toes. His fingers twitch against the wood beneath them as he stares across the chessboard at the empty chair on the other side.

"So it does, amatus," Dorian says. He sniffs, wiping his eyes, and sighs as dramatically as he can manage. "I suppose I must resign myself to a life of foolishness, then."

"Aww, poor you," Bull says. Dorian smiles.

"Yes, indeed, poor me," Dorian says. "How greatly I must suffer for the things I love."

"But you admit you love me."

Dorian laughs softly. "If you had told me all those years ago when I walked into Haven that I was about to find both my greatest friend and my dearest love in two Qunari, I’d probably have laughed myself into a stupor."

"Ha," Bull says. "Yeah, can't say I wouldn't have done the same."

"Odd, to have a reason to be grateful Corypheus tore a hole in the sky," Dorian says.

"At least something good came out of it," Bull says.

Dorian's eyes wander back to the board. "It is, by the way, your turn."

He hears Bull grunt and shift, and the soft sound of his fingers scratching at his jaw once more. "Right, right. Ben-Hassrath to E4. Check. Again."

"It is truly a wonder you can hold the board in your head like that, after everything else," says Dorian. "King takes Knight."

"Speaking of unexpected gratitude, I guess I owe some to Solas," Bull says. "What a piece of work. Pawn to F4. Check."

Dorian smirks. "Yes, how _does_ it feel to know you've played mind chess with what amounts to an ancient elven god?"

"There wasn't anything godlike about that elf, and he said as much himself," Bull says, with more than a little growl in his voice. Dorian feels a smile on his lips at the sound.

"Mmm, I find myself rapidly growing disinterested in thinking about Solas," Dorian says. "King to D4."

Bull keeps the rumble in his voice, but it's playful now. "We could always make this strip chess."

"The effect is decidedly lessened when your partner is not actually present to ogle," Dorian says.

"Doesn't mean it wouldn't be fun anyway. I've got a good imagination, and your voice to describe everything I'm missing. Tower takes Tamassran. Robes off, big guy."

Dorian rolls his eyes. His fingers are already lifting to his collar.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian wakes gasping, jerking upright in bed. He glances wildly around the room as the sheet falls from his chest, but sees only the moonlit shadows of his things and the curtains swaying gently at the windows. He doesn’t realize he’s gripping the crystal until he hears Bull’s voice.

“Dorian?” Bull calls, sleep-roughened and groggy. “Mmph, Dorian? You okay?”

Bull’s voice. As full of life as ever, if dulled a little by sleep and surprise. Bull, somewhere in Oralis now, scarred and scuffed but alive and breathing. Dorian presses his face into his hands.

“Dorian, answer me.” Sharper now, and wary.

“Amatus, forgive me,” Dorian says, prying his hands from his face. “I must have bumped the crystal when I woke.” A weak excuse, Bull knows as well as he how they work. “Just a dream, Sorry to have disturbed you.”

There’s some shifting--Bull sitting up in bed, likely--and the rumble of Bull clearing his throat. The sound is so plain, so astoundingly normal and familiar, that it floods Dorian with relief. He closes his eyes, listening to the cloth rustle.

“You want to talk about it?” Bull asks. Dorian realizes then that Bull was likely waiting for him to sever the connection if it was truly nothing. Dorian sighs.

“You should go back to sleep, amatus,” Dorian says, but keeps his hands selfishly in his lap.

“It’s all right,” Bull says. He must have heard Dorian’s gasping, the shake in his voice. Guilt burns in Dorian’s chest, but he greedily soaks in the sound of Bull’s breathing--steady, calm, alive.

Dorian rubs his temples. “Did...Talan ever tell you what we saw when Alexius’s amulet took us to the future?”

“Bits and pieces,” Bull says. “The important stuff about the empress and the demon army. He didn’t like to talk about it much, said it was messed up and left it mostly at that.”

“I can’t say I blame him,” Dorian says. He sighs again. “I knew nothing of you all then, certainly not enough of it to really… matter, not like it did for him. It was unpleasant, of course, but… we would prevent it. It would never happen. It was… almost a point of academic interest, after working on the potential with Alexius so long.”  
Bull says nothing, listening. Dorian stares across the room at the edge of his curtains, gliding back gently as another breeze passes. He think of Leliana’s face, gaunt and bruised and wrinkled like crumpled paper. He expected her curiosity over their time travel. He gave no curiosity for her suffering in return.

 _This is all pretend to you_ , she said, bright eyes hard and piercing in her bony face. _Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real._

“It’s different to think on it now,” Dorian says at last, quietly.

“So you dreamt about what happened?” Bull says.

Dorian nods, then remember Bull can’t see it. “Yes. At the end, you and Sera…”

The words stick in his throat. He thinks of them, clothes damp and ripped, red lyrium crackling like lightning over their skin, glowing in their eyes. Bull lost some of his muscle, and his shoulders hunched in exhaustion as he walked. Sera looked sickly pale, her thin arms bony, her hair greasy and limp. They had looked at each other, just once, and nodded, turning to the door.

“I watched you die,” Dorian whispers. Bull inhales sharply. “Demons came, terrible things, and you and Sera bought us time, died trying, and I had seconds to save us.”

He drops his head into his hands again. “It hardly mattered, then. But to think of you covered in red lyrium now, dying, wasting away in that cell--”

“Hey,” Bull says gently. “I’m here. I’m here and I’m fine. You saved us all, kadan, probably saved the fucking world, getting Adaar back here.”

“You did, really, the Bull of that world. And Sera, and Leliana. You died, and I didn’t even know the man you were enough to think twice,” Dorian says.

“So you got the chance. Guess I’d owe that other Bull a beer, if I had a way,” Bull says.

Dorian chokes out a laugh. “A keg. Several kegs. Perhaps an entire tavern.”

Bull laughs softly, and Dorian closes his eyes to listen. When Bull falls quiet, Dorian bites his lip.

“Amatus,” he says. “you are...one of the best men I have ever known.”

Bull takes a moment to answer. “Going soft on me kadan?”

“I have been soft on you a very long time, as you well know,” Dorian says.

“Yeah,” Bull says, sounding tender. Dorian smiles. A moment passes, and then Bull says, “You want to try and sleep, kadan? You’ve probably got all sorts of magister things to do in the morning.”

Dorian smiles again. “Oh yes, a whole day of magister things planned.”

“Yeah, need your beauty sleep for that,” Bull says.

Dorian hesitates, then says, “Would you...mind if I… kept the crystal on? I...just…”

“As long as you need, kadan,” Bull says.

Dorian smiles, a little relieved. He pulls the necklace over his head and lays it on the pillow next to him. Then he shifts back, tugging the covers up to his chest and curling on his side. He stares at the soft glow of the crystal pooling against the pillow case.

“It occurs to me, amatus, that I… may not tell you often enough exactly how much I…” he presses his together, then says, “I love you.”

“Think I have an idea anyway,” Bull says. Dorian hears the smile, and lets his eyes slip closed.

“So long as we’re clear,” he says on a yawn. He falls asleep to the sound of Bull’s breathing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's dark when Dorian wakes. Dark and cold. His head is heavy and a little sticky, and the room feels a little like it's spinning. There's stone under his knees. His arms ache. They're above him, he realizes, feeling metal biting at his wrists, and hearing the faint jingle of a chain when he tries to move them to ease the strain. He attempts to turn his head, but the movement sends a sharp pain through his temple. He grunts, tensing, and the chains rattle above him.

Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe. He blinks through the dizzy fog in his head, the pain at his temple settling once more to a throb. Where is he? His memory is hazy when he reaches for it, and oh, his head _aches_.

 _Breathe,_ he thinks again. _Easy. What would the Bull tell you to do?_

Dorian listens. No footsteps on the stone and no voices come to him. He hears no others breathing in the cell with him. There's a rhythmic sort of dripping noise off in the corner, but nothing more. Alone, then. Or if not, whatever companions sharing his plight are very cleverly concealing themselves. Or very dead. Still, he smells no rot, only the musty smell of wet stone.

Dorian reaches for his memory again. What happened? He remembers leaving his home, on his way somewhere... to the stables? He was... he was to take a journey, was he not? Where? Somewhere...somewhere far, somewhere...

The Bull. He was going... he was going to meet the Bull. He made it as far as the edge of the city. Yes, he was beyond the gates, he was to follow the Imperial Highway, when...

He remembers, vaguely, hitting the ground. His horse cried out. It happened fast. He remembers reaching for the crystal, calling for...

Of course, the crystal! Dorian tests the give of his chains. Perhaps if he can stand level with his hands, or hold himself up long enough... he strains to lift his weight, and pain bursts across his head. Sparks bolt across his field of vision. He sags, gasping through it until the worst of the wave passes. He tries instead to shift his knees. His feet are bound, he realizes, perhaps by another chain. But there's just enough give that he might press his knee to his chest, if he could... just...

He fights through the next wave of pain, lancing through his head, straining to bend his knee higher. He groans, hoping his captors are not near enough to hear, and tries again.

At last his knee rests in the right spot, pressing close enough to the crystal that it hums to life. He could cry with relief, if he did not fear the hammering in his head would only grow worse. The faint glow lights up his knees, and a little of the stone beneath them, but little else. He sees a rip in his leathers, a bit of dried blood crusting on his skin.

He hears the hum of the crystal settle, but no voice comes. Bless Bull's caution.

"Bu...Bull.." Dorian rasps, his voice terribly hoarse and rattling in the back of his throat.

"Dorian?" Bull says, sounding desperate. "Fuck, Dorian!"

"I'm... here..." Dorian forces out. His throat is horribly dry. "Don’t know... where. V...Vena...tori."

"Don't strain. We're coming. We're coming, kadan," Bull says. "Heard your first call. Idiots said right where they were taking you before the connection severed."

"Bull..." Dorian says, the room starting to spinning again. "Might...faint again."

"Just keep talking, kadan," Bull says. "We're coming."

"How... are you...coming? You must be... you were in..." Dorian furrows his brow, trying to remember. Orlais? No, no, they were meeting in Trevis, but that was far from Minrathous, certainly no matter of hours.

"You're not in Minrathous, Dorian," Bull says. He sounds breathless. There's a yell, faint, then the sound of metal crashing.

"Am...amatus?" Fear lodges in his throat.

"Hang on!" Bull yells. Dorian hears Krem yell, then crashing and fighting. His head swims, and with it his vision.

"Hurry," he manages to whisper. Then the world goes dark again.

Time is a blur. There’s darkness, again. Sometimes torchlight, dim, far. Faces. Something down his throat... drops of water? Bits of bread. Voices, murmurs he can't follow. Pain. Waves of pain, sharp, dull, distant, then sharp again.

Then warmth. Solid warmth, someone holding his back, his legs.

"Bull?"

"I've got you, kadan. I've got you."

When Dorian wakes again, the pain in his head has dulled. He sees his own ceiling above his head, his own blankets tucked around him. There's a weight at his side, a hand gripping his. He turns his head carefully, and _oh_. Oh sweet Maker, let it not be a dream.

"Amatus?"

Bull's head shoots up from the bed, his horns nearly snagging on the sheet. He scrambles to his feet, his grip on Dorian's hand going tight.

"Dorian," he says, leaning close over Dorian to cup his cheek. "Fuck, you're...you're awake."

"So it seems," Dorian says. "I...remember so little... how did you... how did you get here? It's dangerous, Bull, they'll..."

"I don't care," Bull says. "Vashedan, Dorian, I don't give two fucks, you're _alive_."

"Amatus," Dorian whispers, and then Bull's kissing him. Gently, but the press of his lips is like a jolt of life to Dorian's body, and he whimpers against Bull's mouth.

Bull pulls back immediately. "Shit! Did I hurt you?"

"No," Dorian says. "No, it's just been so long, I..."

Bull relaxes, worried frown slowly melting into a soft smile. His thumb traces Dorian's cheek. Dorian turns his head to kiss it, and hears Bull chuckle quietly.

"You are, quite literally, my knight in shining armor, then?" Dorian says, smirking at him. "You saved me, did you not?"

"I'd have burned a path from Orlais to Seheron if I had to," Bull says.

Dorian can't be bothered to hide whatever besotted expression he knows crosses his face, but it's worth it when the Bull leans down and kisses him again. Dorian reaches weakly for the back of Bull's neck, holding him close.

"How do you feel?" Bull asks when they finally part.

"I've a nasty headache, and my limbs feel as if they're full of straw," Dorian says. "But I suppose I'll manage." He sighs. "I should've known. I should've seen it coming. My luck couldn't have lasted forever."

"Thankfully those fucking morons that grabbed you didn't plan that well ahead," Bull says. He sits on the edge of the bed, weaving his fingers through Dorian's. "And we didn't let 'em get far. But we can talk about that shit later. You probably oughta sleep."

"Sleep, he says, as if I haven't been doing just that for an age," Dorian says. "Whyever would be I interested in sleeping now? You're... Maker, Bull, you're _here_."

"Yeah," Bull smiles, chuckling. "Not how I wanted to do it, but... nice place you've got here."

"It serves, I suppose," Dorian says, smirking up at him. "The roof is intact, for one thing."

"Well, shit, now you're just getting spoiled," Bull says. He strokes the back of Dorian's hand for a moment, then adds, "Met Mae, by the way. Classy lady."

"You met Mae?" Dorian lifts his head a little. A dull throb protests the movement, but settles quickly. "Is she here?"

"Yeah," Bull says. "You woke up at one point, told us to get her a message. She got us into the city."

"Ah," Dorian says, settling his head back down again. "Well. I'm certainly never going to hear the end of this."

Bull laughs. "She's a charmer."

"She also has impeccable timing, it seems," says a voice from the door. Dorian's head snaps up, then he regrets it immediately, a spike of pain at his temple punishing him. Maevaris sweeps into the room, smiling serenely at the two of them as she pushes her cloak back over her shoulders.

"I see our sleeping beauty awakes," she says, though not unkindly. Her smile falters a moment, a look of genuine concern replacing it. "How's the pain?"

"Tolerable," Dorian says. "Though my revenge will be swift and painful if this damnable head wound leaves a mark."

"Ah, there's the Dorian I know," Mae grins. Her gaze drifts to Bull, appraising. "I must say, Iron Bull, his description hardly did you justice."

"Oh honestly, Mae," Dorian says, but Bull just laughs.

"All right, all right, no need to be territorial," Mae says with a wink at the Bull. She presses a hand to Dorian's cheek. "Don't fret over a thing, Dorian, I've taken care of everything. It seems you are taking an extended vacation for your health, as soon as you're well enough to travel."

Dorian doesn't bother to hide a smile. "You are a good friend."

"Yes, I am," she smirks. "Now, boys, do remember to save the strenuous reunion activities for the villa."

Dorian splutters, flushing, but Maevaris is already sweeping out the door with a laugh that Bull echoes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian wakes to the sun warm on his face. He can feel the sheets still tangled around his legs from the night before, and there’s a pleasant ache in his thighs. He smiles, skimming a hand over the sheets next to him, but finds them empty. Dorian cracks an eye open.

Sunshine fills the villa’s bedroom, pouring in through the archways that lead out to a wide veranda. A fire crackles in the hearth across the room, hardly necessary for heat in the waning summer but there’s a pot suspended over it. Dorian breathes in, and the scent of cocoa and cinnamon fills his lungs. His smile widens.

He sees Bull then, standing naked just outside of one of the archways with his face to the sun. Dorian lets his eyes trail down the expanse of Bull’s back, lingering over the gnarled scars, the folds of skin at his waist, the firm swell of muscle at his thighs. Oh, that Dorian could wake to this every morning, to cocoa on the fire and the sun on Bull’s back, to sheets that smell of them both, still warm from where Bull held him through the night.

There’s a warm thought Dorian keeps in the very back of his mind, somewhere safe and quiet and all his own. It’s a dream of the villa as more than a six-month way stop, more than a safe harbor of hours. A dream of graying hair and wrinkled faces, pressed still together on a bed all their own, a bed they never have to leave. It’s a dream of laying aside arguments in marble halls over the fate of an empire for arguments in a country kitchen over curtain colors and the right spice for a curry. It’s a dream of a garden growing outside the kitchen, of dirt under his fingernails and Bull’s. A dream of an axe at rest by the fireside, of a staff left there beside it. A dream of all the years they may have left, if the Maker is kinder than He seems.

Dorian sits up and stretches, tucking these thoughts well away. Hope is such a dangerous thing. He pads across the floor to where Bull stands and slips his arms around Bull’s stomach, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, just above a long, thin scar.

“Good morning, kadan,” Bull rumbles, and Dorian smiles against his skin.

“It is rather,” Dorian says. “Is that cocoa I smell?”

“Mm-hmm. Almost ready,” Bull says. He slips from Dorian’s grip, kissing Dorian’s forehead on his way back to the fire. Dorian leans on the archway, watching Bull carefully stir the pot.

“You look beautiful like that,” Bull says, looking up at him with a grin.

“Beautiful is rather a state of being for me,” Dorian says, stretching himself a little in a way he knows looks inviting as Bull moves the pot and begins to fill two mugs.

“True,” Bull says. “But it’s best like this. Naked, rumpled…”

“Thoroughly well-fucked,” Dorian smirks as Bull carries a mug to him.

“Happy,” Bull says simply. His eye is gentle on Dorian as he lifts his own mug to his lips.

Dorian smiles. He sets his mug carefully on a side table and reaches for Bull. He slides a hand up Bull’s neck to cup his jaw, then draws him down to his lips. Bull smiles into the kiss, opening his mouth easily when Dorian’s tongue dips in to taste the spice there.

“Come back to bed,” Dorian whispers against Bull’s lips, brushing his nose against Bull’s. “Let me show you how happy you make me.”  
Bull smiles, stealing another kiss before stepping back. “Wait. I have something for you, first.”

Dorian watches Bull cross the room and rummage through the pack that sits against the wall. Dorian reaches for his mug, letting the warm sweetness sit on his tongue before he swallows.A heady treat. Then Bull stands, nodding to the bed with a box in his hands. Dorian raises an eyebrow but follows, sitting on the edge. Bull seems, of all things, a little nervous.

“There’s a Qunari tradition,” he says when Dorian sits. “An old one, for two who care...deeply for each other. There’s no romance under the Qun, but people get close, anyway.”

Dorian glances at the box, then back up at Bull. Bull traces a pattern in the lid.

“They would take a dragon’s tooth, split it in half, and each wear one of the halves so that however far apart life took them, they were always together.”

He smiles a little sheepishly, and pulls open the lid. “I figured a whole half tooth might be a little big on a human, and might not fit the whole...magister get-up. So I...had them make a set of it, instead. But I thought, I dunno, it seemed...fitting. And after everything that happened a few weeks ago…”

Dorian looks into the box. On one side is a full half dragon’s tooth on a chain, ornate but sturdy. On the other side, a more elaborate necklace made of piece of the tooth, with elegant patterns carved into each piece. Then there’s a pair of earrings, sharp spikes but small, and finally, a ring. The carvings in it match the necklace, both inlaid with dragon bone. Dorian gapes.

“My crystal fits in mine,” Bull says, reaching to lift the tooth and show Dorian the back. “Might protect it a little better, you know.”

Dorian looks up at him with wide eyes.

“I know, I know,” Bull says. “You’re gonna call me a sap.”

“You are a sap,” Dorian says, eyes beginning to shine with tears. He can’t bring himself to care. “You are sentimental and saccharine and I want you to make it ever so much worse and kiss me, this instant.”

Bull’s smile is luminous. He leans forward, letting Dorian catch his jaw and draw him into a searing kiss.

“So you like it?” Bull asks between kisses, as Dorian’s hand finds its way to one of Bull’s horns, tugging him even closer.

Dorian finally pulls back, looking Bull steadily in the eye. “Amatus, you perfectly romantic fool, I love you more dearly than I ever dreamed possible. I want you to help me put on this jewelry so I can wear it, and nothing else, while you fuck me senseless on our bed.”

The heat that flares in Bull’s eyes is instant and as bright as the future Dorian desperately clings to a dream of. Drawing Bull back to his lips, he wraps his arms tightly around him and _hopes_.


End file.
